What Was Lost
by GalInTheMoon
Summary: Clint's return to the abandoned Barton farm. Pre-Avengers one-shot.


_Pre-Avengers (by several years). Sorry about the posting, removal, and posting again. I've had a lot of doubts about this one, but decided to just throw it out there and leave it be this time. C'est la vie right?_

 _Thanks for reading!_ _Reviews and constructive criticism are always welcome._

 _Rated T to be safe as there is a focus on abuse._

 _Disclaimer: Not mine...at all._

 **What Was Lost**

 **By: GalInTheMoon**

Clint pulled his motorcycle up to the gated drive and stopped. He had been driving for a couple of days. Choosing to take a week off to take his time with the decision before him. Coulson had pulled some strings to make it possible. SHIELD didn't like for their agents to disappear for a week on "personal" business. Especially when said agent had a new partner that the agency expected to be more than a little bit of a handful. But here he was. This was it, his family home just as he remembered. He looked at the land before him. What had been a large labyrinth of frightening corn fields in his youth were now smaller, less menacing pastures overgrown with weeds. The white house with a green tin roof was barely visible from the quiet road and he could tell from where he stood it had aged poorly. Rust pock marked the roof and the house itself looked more gray than white. The large red barn just beyond the house was sagging like an old man and it seemed the entire property was weighed down by its abandonment.

He removed the keys the lawyer had given him from his pocket as he walked toward the gate. Noting as he went that the padlock was oxidized and the gate's hinges were rusted enough it would probably be far easier to snap them than attempt to use the lock. He did though and found the right key on his first try. The lock gave way surprisingly easy. He walked forward, pushing the gate against the tall grass that had claimed the driveway. He grabbed his bike and walked it up the drive. The weeds were too tall to ride, and he was enjoying the slow approach to one of the beasts of his youth. The isolated house that he held as partly responsible for his father's behavior.

He glared at his dad's instigator and accomplice as it came closer. Many of the windows were broken and the limb of a large Oak had fallen onto one end of the wrap around porch. There would be a lot of work in cosmetic repairs alone, he thought as he was already weighing his options. He parked the bike and mounted the porch stairs in two leaps. Flower pots were still hanging around the porch's edge and two sat on either side of the front door. A green porch swing, layers of paint chipped off in spots revealing rings of color, was swaying to his right, pushed by a solitary breeze. A welcome mat caked in dirt and sprinkled with leaves sat sentinel at the front door. Through the dirt and neglect Clint could see the porch just as it had been the summer night his life had been turned upside down. When his dad had lost control of his car, driving drunk, and sent himself and Clint's mother to their end. Leaving Clint and Barney waiting for them at home. At least until the police and social services showed up to tell them what had happened and take them away without further explanation.

Everything changed in a matter of hours but this spot. This was still how he remembered it. If he closed his eyes he could still see the white and red flowers swaying in the light that shone from the living room windows. The white curtain that had been sucked out the open casement and waved goodbye to the boys as they were taken away still waved in his memory though now it hung torn, lifeless, and sullied. He fished for the keys in his pocket once more as he looked over what used to be the yard. There was a small root cellar across the way and a garage to the left. The barns were behind the house and down a small bank. He opened the door with the first key he tried and smirked to himself at the odds. First the gate and now the front door, "Must be meant to be." He said aloud to no one. Swinging the door open whipped the lace curtain that covered the interior against his hand. He kicked his heavy riding boots against the threshold before entering and took in the house before him.

The space was a typical farmhouse layout. Simple and to the point. To his right was the living room. He knew a walk through the arch to his left would lead to a dining room, kitchen, laundry, and back-door mudroom that would loop back to the living room. The right side of the house was occupied mostly by the living room that shared space only with a staircase that lead down to the basement or up to the bedrooms. A bathroom was hidden in the back, and a modest fireplace sat against the outer wall. Windows on either side looked out to the porch and the fields beyond. It was as he remembered but covered in dust and debris that had blown in through the broken windows. Family pictures were on the walls in some places and a few had fallen to the floor. Wallpaper hung loose in spots and it was clear someone had rummaged through the wreckage of a home.

He turned toward the dining room where the walls had red fuzzy letters spray-painted across them and he stopped to ponder the odd pairing of declarations of love with symbols of hate before moving on. He walked toward the kitchen but was stopped by broken china that littered the floor. Small blue roses were amongst the debris. His mothers beloved dish set. Her one family relic in this museum to the Barton's. He leaned down and picked up a single teacup still intact and set it on the counter. Anger welled in him for a moment that no one had saved them from this, but who would have? He wasn't sure if the thought was helpful or more infuriating but at least it pushed him to move on. He turned and walked back to the stairs. There would be no crossing the broken dishes. He wouldn't risk breaking them more than they already were.

He moved back toward the living room and the staircase that lead up to the small bedrooms. He took a breath before he stepped onto the stairs. Seeing the damage done by time and nature was expected, unavoidable, but for amusement rubbed him the wrong way. It may have been abandoned but it was still a home in one way or another. A pang of guardianship came and went, momentarily obliterating the contempt he had entered the house with. The stairs creaked and moaned beneath his weight. It was a familiar sound. One that usually heralded his father's approach and he and Barney's quick exit from their bedrooms. Meeting on the porch roof, before climbing down the old Oak, and to the red barn's hay loft. He spared little thought for his missing older brother. Time had ripped the already volatile relationship too far for that.

At the top he walked the hall that wrapped the stairs, glancing into the bedrooms as he passed. Barney's room was ransacked, as was his parents. He stepped into what had once been his room. It was destroyed like the others. The bedding was ripped and scattered across the room. An action figure, a couple cars, and a sling-shot made by his grandpa rested on the floor. He picked up the sling-shot as he sat on his old bed. He smiled, turning the old toy in his hand before testing it. The aged rubber band crumbled at his attention. He had been a good shot even then, knocking beer bottles from fence posts with ease even before he had entered kindergarten. He looked up and out the window. Through the overgrown limbs of the old oak he could see the lonely red barn. He left his room, taking the wooden toy with him, tucked safely in his back pocket.

A glance into one of the spare bedrooms on his way back downstairs stopped him mid-step. It was set up for a baby. A small pink blanket was draped over the old crib he and Barney had used. He wondered for a second how that had missed his notice or escaped his memory. A sister. He couldn't know if his mom was expecting when she passed or if she was trying, hoping for a third. Why she would want to add another soul to the chaos that was their home he couldn't imagine but it didn't matter. Another child had never entered this room. A sister had never been born. Hoped for, or expected, she had come no closer to resting here in the end. She would be one more line on a list of lost things and questions possibly better left unanswered.

He closed the door gently and walked back downstairs. There was nothing left he wanted to see in the house for now, and the old barn had been waiting long enough. It was time to inspect the one building on the property that had ever felt like shelter. He locked the front door behind him, though it was clearly a pointless effort, before walking through the tall grass to the barn. The roof was sagging in the middle and the large doors were permanently held open, bearing a good portion of the structures weight. He stepped inside and was flooded with memories of nights spent hiding in here. They knew, his parents, where he and Barney were hiding. But they had let them stay in peace once they made it this far, usually. It was like some twisted game of tag. They had made it to base and were safe so long as everyone played by the rules. Of course, their dad made the rules and would break them when he chose. That was usually when he couldn't rid enough of his anger on their mother. A sharp hot blade ran down Clint's back and settled in his belly. A scalding anger and consuming guilt. He caught himself looking toward the house as if his father was about to barrel out the back door, his hands bunched into fists, a bottle clutched in one hand. He realized his own hands were clenched and his body was tensed, ready for a fight that would not come. He dropped his head and made his body relax, breathing through the emotions, just as Phil had showed him when he was first pulled into the agency.

He took a final deep breath, his head fell back and he looked around at the old rafters. The fading sunlight filtered through the cracks in the boards and dust swirled through the slatted beams. What would he do with this place? Where would it fit into his life? Did he even want it to? He had come so far from here. He was twenty-five, nearly seven years into his career with SHIELD, and this old homestead couldn't have felt any farther behind him. He had thought it lost, a property of the state like he had once been. Returning had never been an option he had allowed himself to consider. Now, after years of being held in legal limbo, it was not only an option it was his. The only thing left in question was if he wanted anything to do with it.

He kicked the loose dirt beneath his feet, "What do I do with all this?" He said to the ether but was addressing his long gone mother. Her opinion would have been the only one he cared to hear. Would she want him to level the home, the barns, and sell the Barton land? Would she want him to obliterate what had caused so much pain for her and her children, or would she want him to reclaim it? Would she want a baby to eventually rest in the waiting crib upstairs and happy children playing in the yard? Surely it was the future she had believed she would have here. She must have believed it were possible. A happy family. He would never trust himself to be a father or husband but maybe he could make this a good home for someone. It was something to consider.

He rubbed his hand along his hair and rested it upon the back of his neck before turning in a circle. Eventually his gaze landed on the house again and he had a clear, crisp memory of clothes drying on the line, flapping in a warm summer breeze. His mother humming a song to herself before resting the clothes basket on her hip, turning to wave at him, and disappearing into the house. She had had happy moments here, as had he. It was possible. It wasn't as if some curse had been nailed into the beams and rubbed into the mortar. It was a home like any other. It had been built by his great-grandfather, loved by his grandparents. It had been the realization of their dreams. Their hard-work and sacrifice had been for this. A place for them, their children, their children's children to call home. One peaceful place in this forsaken world for their family to return. It could be that again.

In that moment something within him snapped back into place. Some piece of himself he had disconnected from, given up on, returned without him realizing before then it had been gone. He rubbed his hand along one of the thick support beams as he left the barn, and what it had been behind, walking back to his motorcycle. The sun was falling beneath the horizon as he made it to the end of the drive. He pulled out onto the gravel rode, a plume of dust caught the fading sunlight and lingered behind him as he disappeared around a bend. He would be back tomorrow, and the day after. He would return as often as his work with SHIELD allowed. Rebuilding the house and the buildings little by little. It would become his secret spot away from the world. Allowing only a select few to know of its existence. He would not only restore it, he would reclaim it. What was lost could be found and he'd be damned if he would give up on it so easily ever again.

 **The End**


End file.
